


The Trouble with the Internet

by Crystallized_Shadow



Series: MadaTobi Week 2019 [4]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Any AU, Day 4, M/M, MadaTobi Week 2019, Madara is a mystery writer, Online Dating, People are matched together based on their internet searches, They get matched up, Tobirama is a serial killer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 22:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20161459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystallized_Shadow/pseuds/Crystallized_Shadow
Summary: In a world where a dating site matches people up based on their search history Madara, a mystery writer, gets matched to Tobirama, a serial killer. Hilarity ensues.





	The Trouble with the Internet

**Author's Note:**

> Day 4: Any AU
> 
> This was based on post I found on tumblr

Checking his phone for the 10th time in just as many minutes, Madara wonders why he had given this dating service a third chance when clearly they only matched him with shitty people. The first two had been wannabe serial killers, both intent on making him victim number three. Luckily for Madara he was highly skilled in self defense; unluckily for him his rather strange internet search history made it likely guy number three would also be a serial killer, if he showed up. It was hardly his fault his search history was so sketchy, he only wrote about murders!

“Sorry I’m late,” a deep baritone murmurs, drawing Madara from his thoughts. He looks up into red eyes and for a moment Madara forgets how to speak. “You are my match aren’t you?”

“Not what you expected?” Madara asks, used to that response since most people saw the name Uchiha and expected someone more put together like his politician brother.

“You’re even more attractive than your picture.”

“Flatterer,” Madara chuckles gesturing to the open seat, “please join me Tobirama.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Tobirama practically purrs as he slides into the seat. “So tell me about yourself Madara, how did our searches match up?”

“I’m a mystery writer and I like to make sure my murders are realistic,” Madara admits with a shrug, “based on my luck so far, I’m going to guess you’re a murderer of some kind.”

“And if I am?” Tobirama challenges with a raised eyebrow, nothing but amusement on his face.

“Then I hope you’re more creative than the two wannabe killers I’ve already beaten,” Madara shoots back, “and for god's sake if you’re going to attempt to kill me after this date I’d like something more personal than a gun shoved in my face.”

“Awfully demanding when it comes to a fictional murder,” Tobirama chuckles, “but I suppose that’s how all writers are, so I’ll play along; how should I kill you?”

Madara lets his eyes travel over Tobirama’s lithe figure, lingering on the tattoos on the pale man’s face that make his eyes even more striking. “Looking at you I’d like something close and personal,” Madara smirks, “maybe your hands around my neck.”

“You do have a very nice neck,” Tobirama agrees, “but I’d much rather have my lips on it than my hands.”

“That could easily be arranged, provided you impress me on this date.”

“Now I feel like my skills are being doubted,” Tobirama says with a grin, “shall I tell you of my many hypothetical kills?”

“I figured that would off limits, one of those ‘I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you’ type subjects.” Madara says, watching Tobirama’s grin morph into a smirk that shouldn’t be allowed to be so sexy.

“I think it’s a safe bet that if I’m really a serial killer you’re going to die anyway,” Tobirama points out, “so you might as well have some fun before that happens.”

“Want to make it big by taking down a big bad Uchiha?” Madara challenges with a smirk, “of course picking the family outcast won’t do you a lot of good.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t know?” Madara asks, sighing when Tobirama shakes his head; he should have figured this would be the first man that had dug up every dirty secret the tabloids had published. “My entire family is in politics, I, the eldest son, decided I wanted to be a writer.”

“I can’t imagine that went over well,” Tobirama says, wincing in sympathy when Madara nods.

“My father has disowned me in every way except legally,” Madara admits, “said it would cause too much of a scandal. However it’s been made very clear that I'm no longer welcome anywhere near anyone bearing the Uchiha name. So if your murder plan involved trying to get some ransom you’ll be hard pressed.”

“I come from a family of lawyers, I’m not hurting for money.”

“That would also explain how you’re still a free man,” Madara states, sizing Tobirama up, “but enough about our families, let’s get back to what we have in common: murder.”

“Since we’re talking hypotheticals,” Tobirama begins, lacing his fingers under his chin as he observes the man before him, “if you had to kill someone, how would you do it?”

“Well that depends,” Madara says, rubbing his chin in thought, “if I don’t want to be caught and it’s likely to be a one time thing then an injection of air between the toes; it would look like a heart attack.”

“What if you didn’t care about being caught?” Tobirama presses, gazing intently at his match, “what if you wanted people to know which kills were yours?”

“Oh that’s easy,” Madara chuckles, “my signature would be a single slash across the eyes.”

“And why is that?”

“The eyes are the window to the soul,” Madara explains, passion making his eyes shine, “to gaze into another’s eyes is incredibly intimate, to rob a person of that in their dying moment is both cruel and thrilling.”

“Amazing,” Tobirama mutters, the awe in his tone making Madara blush.

“Ah, sorry,” the Uchiha mumbles, glancing down at the table in embarrassment, “probably not what you wanted to hear at dinner.”

“On the contrary, I want to hear more,” Tobirama assures, leaning forward to cup Madara’s chin, trailing his thumb over the other’s jawline. “You are truly a magnificent specimen.”

“Only a serial killer would find my murder talk normal,” Madara sighs, “I have the worst luck in men.”

“Why my dear author, I’m insulted,” Tobirama mutters in mock offense, “anyone that’s read your work would only be so lucky to hear you talk, your passion is intoxicating.”

“Aren’t you the charming bastard?” Madara chuckles, leaning into the hand still on his chin, “I have to give you credit though, you’re very good at it.”

“Well if that’s the case, perhaps I can tempt you into skipping right to dessert at my place then?” Tobirama tugs Madara forward and claims his lips in a searing kiss that drives all thoughts of saying no from Madara’s mind.

“Sounds absolutely deadly.” Madara grins, allowing himself to pulled to his feet and lead from the restaurant.

The door slams shut moments before Madara’s back crashes into it, a hand around his throat.

“You wanted close and personal,” Tobirama growls against his ear, “how’s this?”

“Not nearly close enough,” Madara shoots back, moaning when a knee brushes against the bulge in his pants.

“We should do something about that,” Tobirama mutters, the hand not gripping Madara’s throat making quick work of freeing the writer’s painfully hard cock, trailing feather light touches along the length.

“Tease,” Madara moans breathily, pleasure zinging through his blood when the hand at his throat squeezes hard enough to restrict his airway. He was completely at the mercy of this likely serial killer and that thought had Madara high on the endorphins flooding his system.

“Are you objecting to me fucking you right here?” Tobirama chuckles, releasing Madara long enough to to spin him around and press him face first into the door.

“Not if you hurry the fuck up!” Madara snaps, bracing his hands against the door as his pants and underwear are yanked down.

“You should never rush a serial killer,” Tobirama advises fishing a packet of lube out of his pocket before pressing a coated finger deep into his willing victim, “we like to have our fun.”

“Called it,” Madara groans, pushing back into the sudden intrusion, “so the sex better be worth it.”

“It will be,” Tobirama promises, quickly stretching Madara, he could tell the writer liked it on the rougher side, but he still didn’t want to hurt him too bad.

Madara moans loudly as one finger quickly becomes two then three, eagerly thrusting back once his prostate is found and mercilessly prodded. Later he’ll deny the embarrassingly loud whine that escapes him when the fingers suddenly disappear.

“Hush pet,” Tobirama purrs as he pushes his own pants down just enough to free his cock. Pressing into Madara’s personal space, Tobirama snaps his hips forward as his hands drop to Madara’s hips, fingers digging into the sensitive flesh hard enough to bruise.

“Fuck!” Madara exclaims as he’s yanked back to meet the next brutal thrust, “just like that!”

Tobirama chuckles at the writer, shifting the angles of his thrusts until a yowl of pleasure tells him he’s found Madara’s prostate again. Aiming solely for that spot, Tobirama picks up the speed of his thrusts as he leans forward, nosing through the wild mane of hair until he can sink his teeth into the back of Madara’s neck.

“Tobirama!!” Madara practically sobs, wave upon wave of pleasure crashing over him as he claws uselessly at the door, attempting to ride them out.

“So good,” Tobirama murmurs, trailing biting kisses along the writer’s neck until he can nip at the other’s earlobe, “you take me so well pet, I just might have to keep you.”

“Please!!” Madara begs, not sure what he wants, just knowing Tobirama can give it to him.

Tobirama smirks against Madara’s jaw, sucking a mark there as one hand slides around to stroke Madara’s cock in time with his borderline violent thrusts.

“Tobirama!!” Madara cries as his release splatters door only a few thrusts later, the sudden clench of muscles dragging Tobirama down with him. For a second both men just pant, too tired to even move yet. Just as the killer pulls out, he feels a finger jab into his stomach.

“If I stabbed you,” Madara mutters, his words slurring as he yawns, “how long until you bleed out?”

Tobirama considers the factors involved as he straightens up his clothing. “About five minutes,” he finally says with a chuckle, carefully pulling Madara close; there was no way he was going to let his favorite writer get away now.

“Thanks,” Madara mumbles, sleepily snuggling into Tobirama’s chest, “my next killer’s gonna be you.”

“I’m flattered,” Tobirama smiles, pressing a kiss to Madara’s forehead as he takes the other man to bed.


End file.
